


the sloth to my tree

by decideophobia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hiking, M/M, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Sharing a Bed, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6354658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decideophobia/pseuds/decideophobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn’t admit that everything about Stiles doesn’t just makes him weak in the knees, but melts all of his bones, and makes his heart lurch, and his head spin; doesn’t admit that Stiles makes him feel a lot of things he was sure he’d not feel again for a long, long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sloth to my tree

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me posting a fic that's two years old. No regrets. I feel like Stereking again.

“Vacation my ass,” Stiles wails while he adjusts his backpack. His sunglasses are halfway down the bridge of his nose and his hair looks disheveled, falling loosely over his forehead. There’s sweat glistening on his face. If Derek listens closely, he can hear his shallow breathing. Stiles pushes the sunglasses up his nose.

“Stop whining, idiot,” Cora says from behind them. She places her hands on his backpack and starts pushing him forwards. Stiles struggles against her shove, steps sideways to throw her off. She smirks at him when she walks past; Stiles glowers menacingly in her direction. “You agreed to come.”

“Because I was expecting relaxation. Chilling in the sun. Gorging myself into food comas. Not moving more than strictly necessary,” Stiles argues and sets after her, picking up his pace considerably to keep up with her. “I didn’t know you would drag me off to climb mountains.”

“We’re hiking,” Cora scoffs rolling her eyes. “There’s a distinct difference, genius.”

“And what is that?”

“You’d be dead already if we actually climbed mountains.”

“Derek!”

“Nope,” Derek shakes his head at Stiles. It’s always like this. Stiles turns to him like he expects Derek to do something about _Cora being mean_ to him, and he’s completely shameless about it. It’s not like Stiles is a twenty-two year-old adult, no.

“It’s just a tiny grade,” Scott butts in appearing next to Stiles.

Stiles snorts. “Easy for you to say with your freakish werewolf abilities.”

“Lydia and Allison are holding up perfectly fine,” Derek says and nods towards the two women. They’re leading the way together with Erica. Stiles throws him a dirty look.

“I’m holding up just fine too, thank you very much.”

Derek can’t help the snort that escapes him, Cora’s eyebrows jerk up and Scott smiles in a non-committal way that happens to broadcast perfectly how little he believes Stiles.

“I’m still walking, okay, give me some credit,” Stiles complains.

“I didn’t know moving at a snail’s pace is considered walking,” Derek replies. Cora sniggers while Scott just claps Stiles on the shoulder. Stiles starts full-on pouting, and that is not something Derek’s signed up for.

“Oh, come on,” Isaac says. He’s been walking in front of them and stops now to wait for them to catch up. He throws an arm around Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles is way faster than a snail.”

“I like you. You can stay.”

“You’re more of a very fast Galapagos tortoise.”

Stiles wriggles out from under Isaac’s arm with an indignant yelp.

Derek looks up to see that Jackson’s tuned in now too, grinning shittily. “You’re all overestimating him, seriously,” Jackson says. “I’d say Stilinski’s moving just as fast a sea anemone.”

Derek has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. As amusing as it is, he doesn’t think it’s helpful to piss Stiles off even more. Plus, it’s not like he really wants to get on Stiles’ bad side. The others, on the other hand, are snickering shamelessly.

“And how fast exactly do sea anemones move?” Stiles asks, determined expression on his face. Stiles doesn’t take shit from anyone but if there’s one person he’ll stand up to at any given time for any given reason, it’s Jackson.

“A whole 0.04 inches an hour.”

“Did you have to ask Lydia which animal is the slowest?”

Jackson sneers at him while Stiles smirks back at him. Isaac and Scott look like they might topple over from laughing, and Cora is pursing her lips in a vain attempt to hide her grin. Derek dips his head to hide his amusement.

Stiles and Jackson continue to have a staredown. It’s almost comical, the sheer fierce determination. Eventually, Jackson huffs and catches back up with Boyd. Derek’s not the least bit surprised that Boyd keeps out of things like this. He’s probably the one who’d hoped hiking would be quiet mostly, calm and comforting. It’s a rule, though, that within their group of people things never stay calm for very long. No matter what they do.

It’s one of the reasons why Boyd tolerates Jackson, however, because Jackson gets unusually quiet when he feels insulted. It pans out perfectly.

“Anyone else got any ideas about which animal I am?” Stiles asks as he stalks forward.

“At least you’re not a sloth,” Isaac says consolingly.

Stiles snorts. Derek can’t see his face now, having fallen behind a little with Scott, but he imagines his outraged pout.

“I wanted to be a sloth, okay?” Stiles laments. “This is what I came here for. You know, slothing around. Not getting drilled by a bunch of slave drivers.”

Cora huffs, Isaac smirks, and Derek tunes out the rest of the conversation so he can stare at Stiles’ ass in peace. Scott doesn’t even say anything about it, but when Derek catches him watching, Scott turns away, smirking knowingly.

Half an hour later has them playing word games, and Derek thought this might distract Stiles from complaining about their hiking trip but it actually only makes it worse. Allison, Derek, and Stiles are the only ones left playing because the others dropped out five minutes in; too boring, was the reason. Erica made Jackson and Isaac chase her up the hill, Lydia is talking about ageism with Boyd, and Scott and Cora are playing an advanced version of I spy with my little eye.

“Jesus,” Allison says, because Derek’s last word ended on a J.

It’s Stiles’ turn, and Derek almost snorts when Stiles says, “SOS.”

“Smooth,” Derek says, because Stiles is an idiot. Stiles gets the jab and juts his bottom lip out, like he has no idea what it does to Derek. He doesn’t, actually, and Derek never knows if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“Hollow,” Allison continues as she uncaps her water bottle before taking a sip.

“Walk of death.”

Allison almost chokes on her water. Derek claps her on the back gently, watches as she brushes the back of her hand over her mouth. She tries to hide her grin behind her hand, and Derek bites the inside of his cheek. Stiles slouches a little in his walk, fingers fiddling with a length of loose strap from his backpack.

“Heat,” Derek says, absently watching Stiles’ biceps flex when he moves his arm. Allison nudges him with a grin and Derek does his damndest not to colour.

“Tent,” Allison adds, and Stiles counters, without missing a beat, “Torture.”

“That’s it,” Derek says, and Stiles looks at him, bemused expression on his face.

“That didn’t start with an--EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Stiles screeches when Derek scoops him up and throws him over his shoulder. Even though he’s never done it before, Stiles is still a familiar weight, carved some space for himself in Derek’s life that feels natural in a way a lot of things haven’t in a long time. Derek realizes only a second after picking up Stiles, though, that this wasn’t his best idea because Stiles’ ass is right next to his face, and...well, it’s a nice ass. Derek’s going to be mature about this. He is. And when he slides his hand up the back of Stiles’ thigh it’s only to get a better hold of him.

Stiles squirms and wriggles, and Derek grips him tightly, feels Stiles’ body heat sip into his own skin, and this shouldn’t be as enthralling as it is.

“Derek!” Stiles yelps. “Let me go! I thought we’ve established that, against all odds, you’re not a caveman.”

Cora is laughing hysterically as Derek catches up with her and Scott.

“Derek, if you don’t let me go right now--” Stiles’ voice sounds muffled, Derek can feel his hands scrabbling against the backpack.

“Then what?”

“He’s gonna bite you in the ass,” Isaac helpfully provides as he, Erica, and Jackson come bounding back from uphill.

Stiles makes a noise that Derek can’t place while Isaac highfives Erica. Derek feels like he’s missing something but he doesn’t really have time to think about it because Stiles starts smacking his thighs and then digs his fingers into Derek’s sides. It’s a good thing Derek isn’t really ticklish, though the sensation is uncomfortable and Stiles’ fingers are glowing hot traces where they touch Derek. It’s ridiculous how a little touch like that manages to drive him crazy.

Erica starts trailing behind him. “Living the dream, Stiles, huh?” she asks, and Derek can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Guess Derek’s the tree to your sloth.”

“Shut up.”

“A true love story,” Isaac comments, and Stiles sounds like he’s choking, struggling halfheartedly again. “The tree and the sloth.”

“And Derek can take it,” Lydia chimes in now, seemingly bored but with a knowing, sharp edge to her voice that makes Derek’s senses tingle. The way she talks makes him think he’s missing something. He hates it when she does that.

“Obviously, he’s built like a tree.”

Jackson almost falls over laughing while Cora makes faint retching noises. Stiles’ hand connects hard with the back of Jackson’s thigh when Derek passes him, and there’s a yelp and a curse, and Derek feels Stiles’ muscles flex against his shoulder as he lifts himself up a little.

“Derek used to be a tree,” Stiles says over Jackson’s tirade of insults. “Now he’s just a sapling.”

“If I’m a sapling, you’re a twig,” Derek counters, jostling Stiles a little for good measure. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning when Stiles starts yelping. He has been very adamant about Derek slimming down, ever since Derek stopped using exercise as a punishment. It’s something he hasn’t really been aware of and he doesn’t care but Stiles looked him up and down once, right before he made the declaration, and said it was a good look on Derek. 

“That was a compliment.”

“You should work on those.”

“You just can’t admit that my compliments make your knees go weak.”

Derek doesn’t admit that everything about Stiles doesn’t just makes him weak in the knees, but melts all of his bones, and makes his heart lurch, and his head spin; doesn’t admit that Stiles makes him feel a lot of things he was sure he’d not feel again for a long, long time.

He drops Stiles gently back on his feet. Stiles’ hands land on his shoulders and Derek steadies him with with his hands on Stiles’ waist when he stumbles; and for a moment they’re so close Derek can feel Stiles’ breath brushing over his face.

“You need a moment?” Erica asks, smirking so wide it almost splits her face in half. Stiles jerks away and Derek hates how fast his own pulse is right now.

“Yeah, to regain the feeling in my shoulder, the sloth is too heavy for my sapling,” Derek deadpans, mentally patting himself on the shoulder for how smooth that came out. He’s ridiculous. And Erica looks at him like she knows exactly just how ridiculous he is.

Erica gasps in mock shock, and Isaac, solemnly, adds, “The tree and the sloth encounter the first obstacle in their relationship. Will they manage to move past it?”

Derek’s pretty sure they are a bunch of kids stuck in the bodies of twenty-year-olds. How they survive on their own is beyond him.

Stiles smoothes out his shirt with a snort and takes his sunglasses back when Scott offers them. Apparently he took them off Stiles when Derek threw him over his shoulder. He slides them on with a little huffing sound and stalks away like he’s been mortally offended. Derek misses the soft weight, the warmth of Stiles’ body but this way he can stare at his ass some more, and that’s fine too.

Lydia sidles up beside him, brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I could make him wear those jeans you like so much, you know,” she informs him, much too casually, and Derek’s sure his fight-or-flight instincts are just about to kick in. Lydia was the first one recognize his feelings for what they are. The way she cuts through the world sometimes is something that puts the fear of Her into him, one way or another, though Lydia isn’t even half as malicious as Derek first thought she was. She smiles at him knowingly now. On some days it’s hard not be envious of her close friendship to Stiles. “So?”

Derek clears his throat, skin prickling as Lydia looks at him. She’s seen right through him already, and the others have caught on a long time ago, so there’s no point in denying it now. “Yeah,” he says, voice embarrassingly hoarse. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

Lydia’s smile widens. She pats his biceps before she sashays away to catch up with the others. Derek’s left with Allison. He shoots her a look which she responds to by dimpling blindingly at him.

“Does he know?” Derek asks. Allison matches his stride effortlessly.

A thoughtful expression crosses her face. “He doesn’t believe it,” she admits after a short pause, cuts him a quick glance. Allison doesn’t add any more, so they continue to walk in silence.

Derek catches Stiles looking over his shoulder, and when they lock eyes for a moment, Derek hears Stiles’ heartbeat stumble.

*

It’s the fifth night in a row that Derek loses rock-paper-scissors against Stiles. Derek wants the top bunk, Stiles wants it too. They decided to settle it like adults, like all decisions are made: playing rock-paper-scissors for the top bunk, every night. (The first time Jackson laughed so hard he snorted his coke all over himself.) Unfortunately for Derek, though, Stiles beats him every day and gets to sleep in the top bunk.

“Oh, no no no, dude, I’m not sleeping in the bottom bunk,” Stiles said the first time they argued about it. “If the bed crashes, you’ll crush me. I’m not up for that.”

“What makes you think you won’t crush me if the bed crashes?”

“Please, I’m softer than a baby butt; you won’t even notice I’m there.”

Derek’s pretty sure he almost strained something trying to come up with a retort.

Now, Stiles is smirking smugly at him. He’s freshly showered and his hair sticks up in every direction; shirt clinging in patches to his skin where he didn’t dry off properly. A tiny drop of water pools in the hollow of Stiles’ throat. It shouldn’t be so tempting.

“You’re such a loser,” Stiles says, happily bouncing on the mattress, while Derek’s brain distractedly lists all the other, more satisfying ways he could make that mattress bounce.

Derek bares his teeth. “How do you know I’m not letting you win?”

“You _wouldn’t_.”

Derek shrugs, pulls up a corner of his mouth into a casual smile. “Maybe I just fight you for it because you want it so much.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open.

“That sounds like something you’d do,” Jackson mutters.

“That sounds like something _you_ would do,” Cora counters, bored, as she stretches out on the only single bed in the room.

“Please,” Jackson says with a scoff. “Like it’s hard to win against Stilinski. Just throw him into a wall.”

“You throw him into a wall, I throw you and your car into a compactor,” Scott shoots back immediately, and Stiles crows.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Somebody get the popcorn,” Isaac butts in. Erica highfives him without looking.

The next time they go on vacation, Derek tells himself, he’ll take a single bedroom; he doesn’t care about how much more it costs.

The others get into a heated argument, as they usually do, for no reason at all, because for some weird reason the way they express their love is by shouting profanities and hurl insults at each other; occasionally they make really, really dirty innuendos, and Derek can never decide if they’re a deeply damaged bunch, or just lost almost all sense of boundaries with each other. Either way, it works for them, and whenever Derek thinks of his pack, the wave that washes over him warms him from the inside out.

“I’ll get you tomorrow,” Derek tells Stiles, threatens, really, but Stiles smirks, shit-eating.

“Sure thing, big boy.”

Derek rolls his eyes and gets into bed. Allison turns the lights off but the arguing doesn’t stop. He’s not quite sure how long it goes on, but it peters out eventually until all there is is the even breathing of several people sleeping.

Truth is, Derek doesn’t fight Stiles’ for the top bunk just because Stiles wants it. Derek fights him for it because Derek’s always slept in the top bunk: whenever he’d go on vacation with his family, he always got the top bunk. So he slides out of bed, gently lifts Stiles off the top and puts him into the bottom bunk. He’s playing dirty but Stiles has won every single game of rock-paper-scissors; Derek gets to do this now. It’s only for a night. Stiles’ll live.

And this, this is just for old times’ sake.

*

Derek wakes up sometime around--dawn, maybe--because he’s being shoved at. He blearily blinks awake, faint grey light filtering into the room. He can makes out Stiles’ form as he plasters himself against Derek, pulls the blanket around the two of them. Derek’s sure his heart skips a beat but his eyes are already drooping again, and Stiles’ warmth, his steady heartbeat, lull Derek back to sleep.

*

When Derek wakes up the next time, a ray of warm morning light is filtering through a crack in the curtains. There are dust motes dancing through the air, lazy, random. It’s still early, he figures, as the others are still deeply asleep.

What draw his attention, though, is the body pressed up next to him, fitting perfectly into the grooves of Derek’s own; occupying the space in Derek’s personal bubble in a way that makes his heart flutter and lurch like he’s riding a roller coaster. The smell of Stiles, sleep-heavy, dream-soft, curls around Derek, sweet, promising, and Derek aches with it, aches with how much he wants to wake up to this every day.

Stiles snuffles in his sleep, turns, so he’s facing Derek, and tucks himself into the curve of Derek’s body. Derek lies still as not to wake him. He watches Stiles’ face, slack with sleep, and he’s mesmerized by the way Stiles’ lashes fan out over his cheeks; dark smudges against his skin. He isn’t pale anymore; skin tanned from the long hours in the sun. Stiles tans easily, surprisingly fast. There’s a faint sunburn across the bridge of his nose, though. Derek traces the moles with his eyes, refrains from touching still, and wonders what Stiles dreams of.

He’s beautiful like this: the edges of his sarcasm gone soft; the line around his mouth relaxed. Stiles looks peaceful in a way he never does when he’s awake. Derek knows it took him a lot of time, a lot of work, to being able to go back to sleep; to overcome all the bad things that have happened to him. It left scars behind, obviously, but it’s hard to forget certain things; they carve themselves into the lines around the eyes, twist the mouth into a subtle, cynical curl, and it only ever all falls away when you can put your mind to sleep, peacefully.

Carefully, Derek curls an arm around Stiles’ waist, folds himself so his nose bumps against the top of Stiles’ head, and goes back to sleep.

*

“And here we have our love bunnies, snuggling soundly in the top bunk,” Erica says with barely contained laughter. Jackson accompanies the comment with snort, and next to him, there’s frantic movement.

“I thought we’ve established they’re tree and sloth?” Isaac asks.

“Shut up,” Stiles hisses. “Turn it off!”

“Oh nooooo,” Erica singsongs. “This is for future reference.”

Their voices drift in and out of focus while Derek wakes up.

“Let him sleep,” Stiles says, moving again, and Derek notices their legs are tangled. It’s warm, he feels great with Stiles’ solid presence right next to him still, and Derek yearns again, wishes this was his everyday morning.

“Awwww.”

“ _God_ ,” Stiles mutters.

“So, did you get your head out of your ass finally?” Cora asks.

“Me? He put me into the bottom bunk while I was sleeping. I just claim what’s rightfully mine.”

“Are you talking about the bed or Derek?”

“Oh my _god_.”

“You could’ve gotten up after you woke up,” Lydia points out. Stiles’ heartbeat trips, stutters.

“He’s lying on me, it’d only wake him up.”

Derek is, in fact, lying on him he realizes: head pillowed on Stiles’ shoulder with his arm slung across his waist. It’s comfortable, soothing, and Derek wants to never get up if he can have this forever.

“He’s already awake,” Jackson says, smug, and Stiles stills completely.

“You never know when to shut up,” Lydia tells him. Derek can practically see her shooting him punishing looks and it’s a good feeling to know that she’s on Derek’s side.

There’s a little shuffling after that, talk about breakfast, and then the door opens and shuts, and it’s quiet.

The only people left in the room are Derek, Stiles, and Allison.

“Hey,” she says softly, right from the top of Derek’s head. “I’ll head over, too. Take your time.”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers, voice strangely hoarse, and then it’s quiet again when Allison leaves.

Then Stiles shoves at his shoulder. “You can wake up now.”

“Don’t wanna,” Derek says, wants to curl up, press himself closer to Stiles.

“You know, this wouldn’t have happened if you just stayed in your bunk.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You--what?”

“I don’t mind,” Derek repeats, blinks his eyes open to find Stiles’ face only mere inches away from his with a puzzled expression on it. “I don’t mind them, I don’t mind you being in bed with me.”

“Huh.”

“I’ll try to make them stop if it makes you uncomfortable,” Derek offers, pries himself away from Stiles, unwillingly, and sits up to rub at his eyes. It feels cold where he’s not touching him anymore, like something’s missing, but Derek doesn’t want to push; doesn’t want to spook Stiles.

“No,” Stiles says, mouth open as usual as he looks at Derek like he sees him for the first time. “No, that’s--you don’t have to do that.”

He smiles at Derek, unusually shyly. Derek almost trips on his way down the ladder.

*

Lydia does make Stiles wear the jeans Derek likes a lot, and if Derek keeps falling behind just to admire the view in front of him, well everyone but Stiles knows.

*

“Wait, what?” Derek says, confused. “Jonas is their _last_ _name_?”

They all stare at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the entire universe, and Stiles is shaking so hard he might just vibrate out of his skin. How is he supposed to know this crap when he doesn’t even give a shit? This is ridiculous. Derek scrubs a hand over his face while Erica pats his back consolingly.

“Because it makes so much more sense all three of them were named Jonas. Might tack a number there, too, just so you can tell them apart and they don’t get confused.”

Stiles, from his other side, pets his hair. “Nobody cares about the Jonas Brothers anyway. Except for Jackson. It’s his favourite band.”

Jackson does an eyeroll with his whole body but doesn’t say anything while Stiles snickers gleefully.

They decided to spend their last night out by a lake barbecuing. It’s warm, with the sun turning the tree’s canopies golden. The water of the lake is colder than Derek expected, though it’s a nice change. They’ve been hiking all day before deciding to chill on their last evening; gorging themselves into food comas. Though college back on until a couple of weeks, most of them have plans on their own, with friends and family, and it might be a little while until they’re all together again.

When everyone first left for college, it left Derek feeling weird and twitchy, because they all were so far apart; unsafe. But the bond between them has grown stronger since, the connection more stable, and Derek doesn’t worry about them as much as he used to. They all stay in contact, so nobody’s left out of the loop.

Scott mans the little grill they bought earlier, a cheap one-way thing that will serve its purpose for one night, while the other spread out on blankets or explore the space around the lake. Derek bunches up the legs of his pants before walking into the water. It’s clear and cool, and he walks in until the water is barely a couple of inches from his pants.

Stiles walks up to him, water sloshing with each step he takes.

“Did you have at least a little fun?” Derek asks, glances at Stiles: takes in the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the way his hair curls softly over his forehead.

Stiles smiles, tiny, secretive. “Yeah, I did. It was pretty cool. I missed hanging out with you guys.”

“Me, too,” Derek admits. He stands still as Stiles moves in closer so their arms brush together; sensation of it sparking through Derek’s body like a wildfire.

“I missed hanging out with you,” Stiles says, quiet, quiet, and Derek’s breath hitches involuntarily.

And then Stiles’ arm wraps around his shoulder from behind as he tries to kick Derek’s legs out from under him. It probably doesn’t work like Stiles had in mind because it sends them both tumbling down; falling into the water. Stiles gasps in surprise as he surges up, clothes clinging tightly to his frame. He brushes the water out of his face, and Derek can’t help but laugh at Stiles’ outraged-indignant face.

“Tools,” Jackson comments faintly. He’s yelling five seconds later because Allison put an ice cube down the back of his shirt.

When Derek looks back at Stiles, Stiles is watching him with guarded eyes, like he’s trying to figure out a secret. The scrutiny short-circuits Derek’s brain, so he ends up splashing water at Stiles; laughs at the surprised yelp. Stiles throws himself at Derek in retaliation, knocking them down again, though when they still, Stiles’s thighs are framing Derek’s.

The proximity knocks all the air out of Derek’s lungs. Even after all this time he’s still not used to this, to the way Stiles looks up close; to how well they fit together. Derek pushes himself up onto his forearms, feeling exhilarated and anxious at the same time.

Stiles reaches up, framing Derek’s face with both of his hands, fingers trailing softly over his skin. It burns in the most beautiful way, the sensation carves itself into Derek’s memory. They move further, carding through Derek’s hair until Stiles grabs it and leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss to Derek’s lips. Derek tips his head back for a better angle, his own lips parting instantly when Stiles brushes his tongue over them.

Stiles is pressing closer, draws out the cold that creeps up Derek’s spine. Derek feels giddy, happy. He sighs into Stiles’ mouth, balances on one arm to curl the other around Stiles’ waist. Stiles’ lips are soft and warm against his, so much better than Derek could’ve ever imagined. The ache is different now: softer, a yearning to never stop kissing Stiles. Stiles draws back, but puts a series of short, dry kisses onto Derek’s lips, nips slightly, and Derek wants to melt into this.

When he draws back again, there’s a tender look in his eyes and a softer smile on his lips. “You got me today, after all.”

And Derek grins, carefully knocks their foreheads together. He brushes his nose against Stiles, closes the last distance to kiss him again, to kiss him forever.

The others start singing Kiss the Girl, and Derek smiles; feels Stiles’ lips curl up too, and never stops kissing him.


End file.
